


The 16 Days of Christmas

by sinewa



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Space Wrapped 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinewa/pseuds/sinewa
Summary: Leonard is receiving gifts. Jim is waiting for Bones.





	The 16 Days of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for space_wrapped (on LJ) several years ago. Found again on my hard drive and thought I'd share. Based on this prompt: "Jim tries to tell Leonard how he feels by way of an advent calendar (like, each day is a clue, somehow?). Maybe Leonard doesn't get it, or he thinks Jim can't be serious, and Jim ends up having to spell it out for him. And then there is snuggling/smooching/porn." Not so much with the porn, but enjoy the fluff.

There are days when Leonard just knows that retreating back to his room and barricading himself inside with a glass (or five) of bourbon is the best possible option for maintaining his sanity. Not coincidentally, many of these days are often preceded by an encounter with his best friend and commanding officer, James T. Kirk. Not that Jim plans to drive him crazy; it’s just a side effect of the universe’s fascination with Jim Kirk. It’s the only explanation for all the weird, outrageous things that have happened only two years into the mission.

So it’s not Jim’s fault that Leonard feels like hibernating like an endangered version of the Southern Grump Bear (Jim’s phrase, not his).

Except that this time it totally is his fault.

It starts with _The Look_.

Leonard’s never been able to classify it properly, hence the title. Actually, he’s never been able to put rhyme or reason to it; it shows up at the oddest times, after an exam, when staggering back to the Academy, discussing reports over lunch in the mess, on the transporter pad. There’s never been any common theme or emotion or event that Leonard can find. He doesn’t know the meaning behind it, but one things is always certain: when _The Look_ makes an appearance, things have a way of turning upside-down and inside-out until there is some resolution that only Jim can sense, like some otherworldly spirit listening to cues mere mortals can’t hear. Then Jim usually turns around and behaves like a complete idiot and everything’s back to normal.

So when he notices _The Look_ , Leonard goes on high alert for some form of shenanigans.

He really should stop trying to predict Jim.

Actually, he’s a bit embarrassed to admit how long it took him to put two and two together. In his defense, Jim often assumes Leonard knows a great deal more than he does, an endearing and somewhat flattering trait, but often supremely unhelpful. Without seasons (without sun, snow, or even any weather at all, never mind daylight, dammit) it’s hard to keep track of time. But between the planetary evacuation, two doomed away missions, and a plague to cure, Leonard thinks he can be forgiven for his lack of Christmas awareness.

Then the stuffed toy appears atop his desk in Sickbay. 

Leonard thinks it might be a mistake for about two seconds, but the little brown bear has an ancient stethoscope around its neck, a hypospray in hand, and a Santa hat perched jauntily on its head.

So yeah, apparently it’s Christmas.

He doesn’t immediately think of Jim. (Leonard can be a complete idiot too, once in a blue moon. The fact that blue moons aren’t exactly rare out in space is irrelevant.)

He leaves the bear in his office and most of his staff makes up ridiculous excuses to stop by. Leonard attempts to engage in small talk, trying to ascertain who is responsible for the gift. But snooping, eavesdropping, and being subtle are not skills he employs often. (Well, two out of three anyway. There’s a reason why Sickbay is the hotbed of gossip and Leonard revels in knowing some of the juicy bits before Jim does.)

His efforts to narrow down the culprit are unsuccessful, as he is often distracted by his job, by other people, and by his lack of tact. (He only uses Southern Charm as a last resort.) His shift ends and after a quick dinner with Jim in the mess, he returns to his office, grabs the bear and heads back to his quarters. He doesn’t want anything to happen to it and the bear is kinda cute, though he’ll never say it aloud. Leonard goes to bed that night still curious.

The next day, he wakes, showers and dresses. He doesn’t actually notice until after his morning coffee that all of his boots have been polished to Academy inspection standard.

And so a pattern begins.

Every day, usually by his mid-day break, some small item or token is left for him to find. Sometimes it’s in his office, most often in his quarters. (He would be worried about the security measures on the ship, but by the fifth day he’s figured out it’s Jim.)

After the boots, it’s a bag of peaches (and who the hell knows how those got on the ship, ‘cause one bite and Leonard knows they’re the real thing). After the peaches, it’s a small bottle of his favorite cologne. After the cologne, it’s an antique hard-back copy of Gray’s Anatomy, which is really a dead give-away. Jim may be the one with the book fetish, but he’s infected Leonard with his appreciation for old things.

What surprises Leonard most is that aside from receiving _The Look_ more frequently, Jim’s given no hint at all up to this point. No bouncing with suppressed excitement, no hint of mischief lurking when Leonard comes up to visit the bridge, no subtle hints in conversation when they eat together, no hanging around suspiciously to watch Leonard’s reaction to each gift. It’s completely unlike Jim.

Tucking away his book carefully, he decides not to say anything. There’s a plot here, he just has to wait it out.

The next day, he waits patiently all through the morning shift, checks his quarters at lunch, and holds back a sigh at finding his quarters empty. There’s been no gift today. Maybe Jim somehow read his mind and knows that Leonard knows and stopped. (Jim is psi-null, but he might as well read minds with the way he can read body language.)

When he comes home after dinner, there is a fresh hot apple pie on his desk.

Sneaky, devious bastard.

The pattern resumes and Leonard is careful to hide all hints of pleasure at each discovery. There’s a bottle of Evan Williams on his nightstand (he’s going to scold Jim for spending so much when he gets the chance, but saves it for both of them to share), a datapack of the greatest jazz hits collection, the sweats left in his bathroom with the Ole Miss logo, and a message on his PADD confirming an appointment at the most famous massage parlor on Risa during his next shore leave.

But it’s the next gift that blows him away.

It’s a photo album. A real, paper album with printed photos on each page. It’s a slim volume, only 30 pages, but each page has at least two pictures. There are pictures of him as a boy, as a med student, as a cadet; of Georgia, his house, his parents, the horses; of Jim, the Academy, the Enterprise crew, more of Jim, and so, so many of Joanna on every other page. The effort Jim must have gone to for this treasure is staggering.

He spends hours just sitting on his bed, staring at the photos. If his vision is blurry, no one is there to know.

He meets Jim for breakfast as usual, but he fails miserably at interacting normally, his scowl sliding off his face as soon as those blue eyes are on him.

“Jim…"

“Bones?”

Leonard watches Jim play with his spoon and swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t want to end Jim’s game but can’t pretend last night’s gift didn’t mean anything. 

“Thank you. It’s… the album was really…nice. So, thanks.”

It comes out more pathetic than he wants, but he’s distracted by the soft smile on Jim’s face. And there’s _The Look_. Again. It has a slightly hypnotic effect.

“You’re welcome Bones.” Jim licks his lips in a habit years old and Leonard finds himself following suit. Jim’s eyes flick down and Leonard must be catching the cold that’s going round because his uniform feels too hot for his skin.

“Captain.”

They both look up to see Spock standing with a tray, eyebrow raised in polite query. (At least Leonard thinks so, he’s not learned the full catalogue of eyebrow speech yet.) The captain shifts over and Spock sits, effectively ending their conversation.

Leonard’s not disappointed. He eats and listens to the updates on various scientific projects, interjecting a few comments when they touch on his ongoing research. He bids them good day, and heads off to Sickbay, where he is immediately confronted with three ensigns from Engineering who somehow managed to forget every safety protocol during engine maintenance.

When he finally makes it back to his office, there is a message flashing on his PADD. He opens the file and sees what looks like design schematics. It takes a few seconds, but when he figures it out, his laughter can be heard through the walls. The design would probably never work, but the sentiment is there.

It’s a hypospray, with a pain-free applicator.

His grin is still faintly present when the Red Alert sounds hours later.

Leonard can never quite take for granted that he’s on a spaceship. Perhaps it’s the remnants of his aviaphobia, maybe it’s the endless regulations and reports for Starfleet, but despite the routines that develop onboard, he never forgets he’s in space. 

He’s convinced more than ever that space is disease and danger.

The ship lurches once, twice, and Leonard is tense as he waits for news and casualties. He has no idea how long they wait, everyone poised for action and watching the door anxiously for patients, but eventually the captain’s voice is pouring out over the comm. and Leonard closes his eyes and breathes.

He lets the information wash over him (and don’t they have enough to worry about without Klingons leaving behind a minefield to protect territory they want to claim at a future date?) and just listens to Jim. It’s reassuring and Leonard thinks for the thousandth time that he really is good at this.

Once he’s double-checked that no one’s been hurt worse than a few bruises, he lets himself into Jim’s quarters and waits for the captain to go off shift. An hour later, they’re sitting on the couch drinking one beer each and arguing about whether Chekov and Sulu are sleeping together. Leonard knows they are because of Sulu’s presence in Sickbay last week, but Jim’s convinced that he’d notice a change in their behavior. (He doesn’t say that maybe Jim’s been pre-occupied lately, what with the Christmas gift-giving thing.)

He falls asleep on the couch and wakes up half sprawled over Jim. It’s indecently early and Jim’s a comfortable pillow. Leonard goes back to sleep.

In the morning he goes back to his quarters and finds a box on his bed. He lifts the lid and looks inside. His face flushes beet red as he slams the lid back down and heads for the shower.

He doesn’t meet Jim’s eye the rest of the day, though he can feel the smirk aimed at him.

(That gift remains in its black box in the back of his storage closet where it will stay until he dies or retires, hopefully forgotten, because he is never going to use it. Ever. Really.)

It does make him wonder though. For the first time since he realized it was Jim behind the one man Santa act, he wonders why Jim is doing this. It results in a headache, a bad night’s sleep and a frustrating lack of answers.

The Southern Grump Bear is in full swing the next day and nurses and patients alike scurry out of his path. No amount of coffee will appease him this morning.

It’s actually Uhura who delivers his next present, indirectly of course. He’s squirreled away with a mountain of paperwork, updating crew inoculations, filling requisition forms for the upcoming stop at Starbase 47, looking over incoming medical personnel transfer requests. His inbox alerts him to yet another message, this time to all Enterprise crew. It’s the holiday comm. schedule. Each crewmember is slotted for 30 minutes over a five-day period, leaving at least two comm. lines open for Starfleet Command.

Leonard is scheduled for one hour and knows right away that Jim has given him his slot. On Christmas Day, no less. He’s grateful for the extra time with Jo, but his heart clenches painfully for his friend. He remembers Jim’s quiet comment to Uhura last year, that he didn’t need the slot and to distribute it among the bridge crew.

If he ever meets Winona Kirk, he doesn’t know what he’ll do but it will be bad. Very bad. (He’s pretty sure his gram will help him hide the body though, so it’ll all work out.) 

He comes out of hibernation to drag Jim from the bridge down to the mess. He gripes about paperwork and the lack of actual paper, the transfer requests who are completely delusional, and criticizes Jim’s eating habits until Jim is laughing and teasing him and gives him _The Look_. Leonard grins madly and the vice grip around his heart disappears.

He sleeps well that night and wakes up knowing he had pleasant dreams. He’s smiling before his morning coffee.

Of course, this is exactly when Jim decides to change the game.

They meet for lunch (Leonard never noticed how much time they spend together on the ship, especially considering how amazingly busy they both are) and though he hasn’t found his gift yet, he’s looking forward to seeing what Jim will do today. They’re almost finished and Leonard is just about to stand when Jim stops him with a hand on his arm and gives him an envelope.

“For use at any time, personal or professional.”

Jim squeezes his arm affectionately, then strides away before Leonard can respond.

He opens the envelope and pulls out a card. The words are written in careful, beautiful script.

ONE FREE VETO  
for anything  
without comment  
or complaint.  
Use wisely. JTK

He stands there for several minutes, turning over Jim’s words. The more he thinks, the more powerful the message. Jim knows that the CMO has the authority to countermand the captain’s orders under certain circumstances. This has nothing to do with chain of command.

This is about Jim and Bones.

He’s still thinking about it when he goes back on duty. He doesn’t stop thinking about it, is unfocused even as he teaches the first aid for dummies course to the astronavigation department.

He spends the evening in his quarters, flipping through the album and sipping bourbon. There are very few secrets left between him and Jim. There are some things they never talk about, but very few things they don’t know about each other.

Jim pushes people and he’s a classic Alpha personality. Usually he pushes because it’s necessary or the healthy thing to do. Sometimes, it’s because he can’t stand not knowing or not being in control. Jim is the kind of captain that blurs the line between personal and professional, at least more so than Starfleet would like in a captain. Jim takes his duties seriously and is very aware of boundaries, but there are grey areas.

This is why he values Spock and Leonard, hell all the senior staff, because they keep him honest. They advise and clarify the grey areas so Jim can make the hard calls.

This card, this veto, is a step beyond that. He could veto an away mission that he thinks is too dangerous, or steer him away from topics Leonard will never want to discuss. It means he can shut him up, whatever Jim’s protests might be.

It scares the shit out of him.

What if he had used this on their first Enterprise voyage? What if he had shut Jim up when he was telling Pike they were entering a trap? What if he had stopped Jim from going on his third away mission? Jim nearly died, would have if McCoy was a lesser surgeon, but Jim had saved his team. Would they have died without him?

The potential of this veto is breathtaking. Not just for the power, but the magnitude of Jim’s trust in him. He trusts that Leonard will have a damn good reason for using his veto.

It also means that Leonard will have to trust in Jim, his unfathomable leaps in logic, crazy ideas, and tendency to reckless self-sacrifice so that Leonard never has to use the power he has. He spends the night lying awake, thinking about what if’s, but essentially it’s all a moot point.

He wouldn’t be here, in space, on the Enterprise, if he didn’t trust Jim completely. He’s just never been so aware of it before.

Jim seems almost nervous at breakfast, like he thought Leonard would shout at him for being a trusting fool. He enjoys throwing Jim off balance, smiling at him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. Jim looks stunned (it’s a good look on him, eyes wide and even more blue) then almost giddy at Leonard’s response, beaming _The Look_.

They eat with gusto and Leonard can’t remember when they’ve ever been so in tune. They may have been codependent at the Academy, but they’ve grown, sharpened, hardened since then. He likes knowing that they fit even more seamlessly here. It makes all the danger and darkness of space worth it. He can’t imagine being without Jim.

He’s almost forgotten about gifts when he finishes in the lab for the day. He’s not overly worried about it, but still searches his room after whiling away a few hours chatting with Scotty.

There is another envelope resting on his pillow. (He’s not sure how Jim can top the last gift, but he’s trying not to underestimate him.) It’s larger than yesterday and heavier, and inside is something like a letter with the same beautiful script.

The content is quite different though.

>   
>  O, never say that I was false of heart, 
> 
> Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
> 
> As easy might I from myself depart 
> 
> As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: 
> 
> That is my home of love: if I have ranged, 
> 
> Like him that travels I return again, 
> 
> Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
> 
> So that myself bring water for my stain. 
> 
> Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
> 
> All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
> 
> That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
> 
> To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; 
> 
> For nothing this wide universe I call, 
> 
> Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.  
> 

He reads it twice, heart racing like he’s run a marathon. It’s Shakespeare, no doubt, and even if he didn’t know of Jim’s obsession with the Bard, he would recognize the sonnet. He knows this one, has studied it in school; a love poem he’d had no use for in an outdated language that taxed his mind. He hated it then.

He feels very differently now.

Jim gave him a love poem. A love poem. Part of his brain is cackling hysterically at the very idea, while the rest of him is trying to remember what this poem even means. It’s difficult to concentrate; he’s feeling a bit light-headed.

What Leonard takes away from it is this: Jim is faithful in love, despite his flirtatious nature. Jim may have slept with others, but Leonard is his everything.

It takes conscious thought to remember to breathe.

He’s wondered why. Why the gifts, why now, why those particular gifts. Cute, sweet, thoughtful, moving, embarrassing, intense. Like Jim decided to make it clear that he cares about Leonard, in a crazy Christmas version of Jim Kirk’s newly discovered Courting Ritual.

Oh.

Oh.

_Oh, shit._

With his head between his knees, Leonard slowly breathes in and out, idly thinking that this system they’re travelling through must have a lot of blue moons because Leonard has been an idiot. (Apparently, learning your best friend is in love with you shatters your intellectual capacity. Who knew.)

Once his calm is mostly restored, Leonard tries it on for size.

“Jim loves me.”

Okay, it’s real. He even believes it. Now what is he supposed to do about it?

His body seems to be moving without his consent because he’s out in the corridor heading to the turbolift before his brain makes a decision. Then he’s at Jim’s door, chiding his body for not giving him more time to come up with something to say.

Nothing comes in the minute he stares at the door, so what the hell, security will be there in a few minutes, Jim’s his best friend, and Jim loves him. It’ll be fine. He enters Jim’s code and the door opens with a hiss. 

Jim is curled up on the couch but straightens when Leonard walks in. He looks exhausted and sad and Leonard is aware now that Jim was waiting for his reaction while he tasted Scotty’s newest batch.

“You love me,” he blurts out. Jim flinches and Leonard cringes inside. That sounded too much like an accusation.

He tries again. “You love me.”

Jim stands and watches him, cautious. He answers softly, “Yes.”

Right. He was right. “You gave me a love poem.”

Jim blinks, his lips making a valiant attempt at his usual charming grin. “Technically, it’s a sonnet.”

Leonard’s not sure he’s making his point. He stares Jim down. “ _You_ gave me a _love_ poem.”

“Sonnet.”

“Dammit Jim!” His hands are on Jim’s shoulders, squeezing hard. Jim gives him _The Look_ and yes, now he knows exactly what it means.

“Hey, Bones? I lovmmmpf.“ Leonard has his lips on Jim’s, and then Jim’s tongue is caressing his lips and so Leonard has to open his mouth. Nothing has ever tasted so good.

Jim pulls away panting and Leonard lets out a noise that most certainly is not a whine.

“Bones—“

“Asking for a date too normal for you?” His hands are in Jim’s hair, Jim’s hands are around his waist and it feels natural, like he should have been doing this years ago.

“What do you think we’ve been doing?”

Leonard snickers, because dammit, Jim’s right. He’s a little drunk, high on love, and definitely wanting more of Jim.

“In that case, more kissing, less talking.”

Jim laughs and proceeds to thoroughly ruin him for anyone else. That’s alright though because Leonard doesn’t need anyone else.

Jim’s his everything too. 

 

fin


End file.
